Page 12 of Talk to Me

“You sound like you’re enjoying it,” he murmured and it was like having some big cat rumbling a purr in my ear.

“I like it when someone, who is almost as smart as me, provides me with a puzzle that’s a challenge.”

His soft laughter encouraged me. “Damn, Sugar Bear, you sound hot when you’re in pursuit.”

The algorithm did its job, and helped me crack through the clones and false fronts until I was able to track the whole thing back to a company in…

“You can’t take this job,” I told him. It didn’t matter what they were calling the business. They’d changed the incorporation papers, but I recognized the man behind it.

“Why not?”

“Yuri Andronvich.”

“It’s a trap,” McQuade sounded almost delighted. “Really?”

“Yes, really. Why are you so happy about it?”

“Androvich is almost like the guy who got away. And the son of a bitch never paid me for the two jobs I did before he tried to kill me.”

“John,” I said, refusing to be charmed by his engaged tone. “He didn’t plan to pay you because he wanted to kill you. Then you screwed that last job for him—it not only cost him a few hundred million, but it put a price on his head.”

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer dickbag. So he set a trap for me.” He clapped his hands.

“You’re going to spring the trap.”

“Yes, Sugar Bear, I am. Guess I’m off to Morocco. Want me to bring you back something nice?”

“Well, you coming back alive would be good,” I said.

“If you insist,” he teased. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to move.”

“I’ll be here.”

Then he was gone and I stared at the information on the screen. Where was Androvich right now?

Chapter

Four

PATCH

“You’re bored,” I told Remy as I pulled up his current location. Thanks to Google maps, I had access to street level as well as three-dimensional maps. It wasn’t like I could just repurpose a satellite to scan his location.

If push came to shove I could, I supposed, but that would bring heat in the form of hellfire down on us. Not a benefit really.

“I am bored,” he admitted. “But, I do need details on those guys. Soft background, habits, regular destinations—the usual.”

“We looking for a good spot to ambush them or a reason to?”

Remington didn’t say anything immediately. His quiet could be because he was actually considering his answer. Or it could be he was in danger of being overheard. It was far more likely the former than the latter. He could and had, found perches and nests where he’d spent days waiting out a target.

I would prefer we didn’t discuss how he handled his bodily functions, particularly after he told me the longest he’d ever made it in a nest was 89 hours. My imagination provided enough detail. I was sufficiently grossed out enough to not ask more questions.

“Maybe a little of column A and a little of column B,” he answered finally. “You ever wonder if there was something else you could be doing right now?”

“Well, I was binging the 90 Day Fiancé when you called.”

He snorted. “Luv, I meant a different line of work.”

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